


the end of the line

by Showmethedestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Apocalypse, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Dean Winchester, Smut, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 01:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14225859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Showmethedestiel/pseuds/Showmethedestiel
Summary: There's a snort from beside him and he raises an eyebrow at Cas."I lost my virginity to this song," he explains.Dean nods, smirking. "I tell people mine was Light my Fire, but really it was Celine Dion," he says. Then adds, "don't tell anyone."Castiel laughs at that. "Cross my heart," he promises.





	the end of the line

Dean’s walked past the shop almost every day for the better part of a decade; rarely giving it a second thought. Today, his boots grind to a halt on the too-hot asphalt outside, and he observes the looming glass storefront with a bittersweet sort of excitement. He can see the red and orange streak across the sky — like a Phoenix burning up — in the reflection, and he sighs before he enters. There’s a little bell that tinkles softly; incongruous with the howling chaos outside. In here, the noise dims, the atmosphere soothes, even the unbearable heat diminishes slightly. Dean likes it.

His feet tread noisily on hardwood floors over to the reception desk and he wonders, not for the first time, if anyone will even be here. Still, he raps loudly twice, three times, on the wood, glancing idly at the flyers for a tattoo convention next week. He scoffs.

After several minutes of waiting, he’s about to give up and leave, when a voice calls out: “I’ll be with you in a second!”

Dean smiles a little bit and wanders over to flop into one of the comfy leather chairs. He flaps his shirt a bit to try and cool down. Even in here, the heat is barely tolerable.

In a moment, a beaded curtain parts, and a slightly dishevelled man emerges. He’s wearing tight black jeans and apparently nothing else, but hey, to each their own — especially in this heat. Dean admires the flat planes of the man’s torso fairly unabashedly as he pads over to Dean with bare feet.

“I’m Castiel,” he says, his voice deeper than expected. “Are you here for a walk in?” he asks, the epitome of casual, as if nothing in the world outside exists. Maybe in here, it doesn’t. Maybe in here, they can be free. Or at least pretend to be.

Dean snorts, but nods. “Dean,” he says, then clears his throat; voice rusty from lack of use. “You okay with that?”

Castiel nods. “Of course, I’ll even give you a discount.”

Dean laughs wryly and stands. “How generous.”

A smile tugs at the edges of Castiel’s mouth before he turns and gestures for Dean to follow.

Inside the room it smells vaguely like disinfectant, incense, and burning leather.

“I hope you’re not here for a full back piece,” Castiel says as he opens and shuts cupboard doors, back to Dean, preparing his tools. “I wouldn’t touch that thing with a barge pole,” he nods at the black leather tattooing chair. “Not today.”

“Yeah, no,” Dean replies, wandering around the room, examining curiously the knick-knacks scattered around. “I’m just here for a small piece -- on my chest,” he glances up at Castiel. “If that’s okay.”

He shrugs, concentration on something in his hands. “Sure.”

Finally he turns and gestures to a smaller chair over by the corner. “Bring that over here, if you would.”

Dean does as asked, then sits down wearily. In the corner there’s a small TV showing some news station. Not many of them are still running. He sighs. “Hey, would you mind changing the channel?” he asks.

Castiel nods. “Of course,” he says, and walks over to turn the thing off. He also takes a detour to close the blinds, which Dean is thankful for. The room is now bathed in a shallow pink glow, easier than the harsh vibrant red of before.

“Thanks,” he says. “I was kinda sick of being reminded.”

Castiel just nods again, then turns to address Dean, still appearing startlingly unphased. “So, what design are we going for, that you decided you just couldn’t go out without?”

Dean smiles a little and pulls out his cell. There’s no service anymore, but he still has the picture he needs. He shows it to Castiel, who peers at it closely. “I want this, or a design based on this, where it used to sit.” Dean pulls down the collar of his shirt and indicated the dip in his clavicle. “My brother gave it to me, the ass I am lost it.”

Castiel smiles gently and takes the phone. “May I?” he asks, though he’s already walking away.

“Yeah, do what you want,” Dean replies.

“Is your brother...?”

“Gone,” Dean supplies. Nothing more needs to be said.

Castiel sets the phone down beside a pad of paper. Without another word he picks up a pencil and begins, led scratching paper loudly in the muffled quiet of the room.

At one point Castiel asks, “colour or blackwork?” without looking up, Dean just shrugs and tells him whatever.

In twenty minutes he seems to be done, and walks over to Dean, almost caressing the paper. “The electronics are on the fritz, I’m afraid,” he says. “So, I’ll draw the design straight into skin and then tattoo over it. Luckily I have a battery for the gun."

“Sounds good,” Dean says. “Do what you gotta do, man.”

Castiel flips the sketchbook to show Dean, and he feels himself smile at the sight. It’s a silhouette of the amulet, but some colours surround it -- shades of green, almost splattered around, like ink seeping into the paper — or later, Dean’s skin. “Looks awesome, man. Love it.”

Castiel smiles and his face turns determined. It’s a little endearing.

Not too soon after, Dean’s sitting in the chair, Castiel a foot in front of him in his own, the low buzz of the gun a grounding point over Dean’s chest. Castiel has a steady hand as he works through the sweltering heat. He smells vaguely of frankincense and sweat, and his hair is starting to stick to his forehead. Dean stops himself from reaching up and pushing it back for him.

“So, Cas,” he says, mindful not to move his chest too much. “What’s a guy like you doing working on his last day?”

Castiel doesn’t answer for a moment, and Dean begins to think that he didn’t even hear the question, too intent on his work. But then the silence is broken. “There isn’t anywhere else for me to be,” he raises his shoulder in a half shrug. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Same,” Dean says, then amends, “I mean, there’s no one. No one for me to be with. Might take a drive after this, though, just see where the road takes me. Watch.” Castiel nods. “‘Course, the heat might burst my tyres, and I wouldn’t want my Baby’s last moments to be in pain.” He’s mostly just thinking out loud now.

“Are we still talking about a car?” Cas asks, a little confused frown on his face.

Dean chuckles a little. “Yeah, sorry, I tend to personify her — a bit. ‘67 Chevy impala, she was my Pop’s.”

“I see,” Castiel says, still continuing steadily onwards with creating the image on Dean’s skin.

“She’s all I’ve got left,” Dean adds, quietly. When Castiel says nothing, Dean asks, “what about you?” and it’s not very specific but Cas seems to understand.

“I don’t have anything left but my life.”

Dean nods, understanding, and understanding the irony. “My brother went up in Gate Nine,” he offers. He doesn’t really know why; since he doesn’t talk about Sam leaving to anyone, but still, he continues. “He said he was gonna try and get me onboard as a mechanic, but neither of us believed it.” There’s a pause where nothing needs to be said, just the constant, soothing noise of the machine and their breathing. “But he went up there, with his degree and his diplomacy,” Dean says it neutrally, he’s let go of the pain; for today. “I saw him on TV. That was the last time.”

“I haven’t spoken to my brothers or sisters in a long time,” Castiel’s voice is also calm, but his face betrays hints of his pain. “They don't even know where I am today.”

Dean nods his head and sighs. “Look at us — what a pair,” he intones.

Cas huffs a small laugh. “They should write sonnets about us.”

Dean smiles a little sadly. “That they should.”

Twenty minutes later, Dean’s standing up to look in the full length mirror in the corner, Castiel standing a foot behind him. “Did I do it justice?” he asks, snapping off his black latex gloves and tossing them haphazardly on the counter.

Dean stares in awe at the small but beautiful sigil nestled in the dip of his collarbone. “Holy shit,” he murmurs, straining for a better look. “This is amazing, I wish I’d come here sooner; seems a waste, now.”

Castiel smiles thoughtfully behind him. “Not really,” he says. “All art is lost in the end, all bodies decay. What’s, say, another forty years to another eight hours.”

“Gee, Cas, optimistic outlook you got there.”

Cas just smiles wider. “I’m known for it.”

Dean pulls his shirt on over his head and chuckles. He then lays a hand heavily on Castiel’s shoulder. “Never change.”

“Would you like a beer?” Castiel asks once they’re in the foyer again. “I live upstairs.”

Dean shrugs. “Don’t have anywhere better to be,” he says. “Hey, aren’t you gonna charge me?”

Castiel chuckles a little darkly. “I’ll send you the bill,” he says.

Dean quirks a smile. “Fair enough.”

He follows Cas up carpeted stairs and into a modern, studio apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” Cas says as he crosses over to a cooler by the fridge. “Beer?”

“Please.” Dean wanders over to the wide, bay window at the foot of the bed with rumpled grey sheets.

Outside, the sky has deepened to an almost burgundy hue, long drips of poppy-red interspersed. There are no clouds, there are no birds, only the red and what’s left of the atmosphere. This building lies at the edge of the city, and from here Dean can see the interstate to his right, and the hollow of a dried-up lake to his left. The cars have stopped driving on the roads by now.

He doesn’t hear Castiel come up beside him until he speaks. “Surreal, isn’t it?” he says, and hands Dean a bottle of cold-ish beer.

Dean contemplates this, then shrugs. "I guess," he says. "Kinda just feels like another day, at the same time." 

"In a way it is." 

"Before today I felt like I should fight it," Dean admits. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Had this burning  _need_ to do something." 

"But not today?" Cas looks over at him and Dean feels like he gets it. 

He shakes his head. "Nah. Today I woke up and just wanted to get a tattoo and get wasted."

Castiel smiles a little. "Maybe I should've brought out the stronger stuff," he quips, clinking a fingernail against the glass bottle. 

Dean chuckles but shakes his head. "I uh, I kinda expected to be alone, as well." 

Cas turns his head to look out of the window. "Me too." There are a few moments of silence before he adds, "I'm glad I'm not, though."

A few miles away, a copse of trees catches fire. Dean watches it absently. "So am I," he says finally. 

"My brother, Michael, was on Gate Seven, too," Cas says, apropos to nothing. 

"Yeah?"

"Funded half of the ship, actually." Castiel takes a long pull of his beer, then walks back towards the bed. He crouches beside his nightstand and rummages around for a bit until he apparently finds what he was looking for. He strides over to Dean and sets the rusty green radio on the windowsill. 

"You think it'll work?" Dean asks, eyeing the thing doubtfully.

Cas shrugs. "No idea." He fiddles with it for a moment and then a static-y melody erupts from the speaker. Dean recognises  _La vie en Rose_.

There's a snort from beside him and he raises an eyebrow at Cas. 

"I lost my virginity to this song," he explains. 

Dean nods, smirking. "I tell people mine was  _Light my Fire_ , but really it was Celine Dion," he says. Then adds, "don't tell anyone." 

Castiel laughs at that. "Cross my heart," he promises, then turns and walks over to his bed, flopping onto his back lackadaisically, empty bottle of beer rolling off underneath the frame. He pats the space beside him. "You're welcome to join me." 

Dean stares absently at the bed for a moment before sighing. "Fuck it, why not?" he mumbles, before ambling over to Cas, lying down in a marginally more dignified manner. 

"He was a douche," Cas says, eyes on the world outside. 

"Who was?"

"The guy I lost my virginity to," he explains. "Name was Fergus, but he made everyone call him Crowley." 

"Like in  _Good Omens_?" Dean asks. 

Castiel huffs a laugh. "I suppose," he muses. "Didn't take you for much of a reader." He quickly adds, "no offence." 

"None taken," Dean says. "I prefer Vonnegut, but you can't go wrong with Pratchett." He shrugs. "Why didn't you think I read?" he asks. "And don't worry, I won't be offended."

"Your hands," Cas answers, and Dean hadn't expected that. "They're scarred; not the hands of an academic."

Dean snorts. "I'm not an academic, that's for sure. My brother -- Sam -- he's the brain, I'm the brawn." 

Castiel glances over at him. "I don't know about that," he says. "Besides, you say it like it's a bad thing." 

A firework goes off outside and Dean finds comfort in the fact that people are celebrating. Dean looks over at the shirtless man lying beside him and tries to remember that last time he just lay with someone. Or got laid, for that matter. It's been a long while; since Lisa broke up with him. Dean wonders what Lisa's doing today, then decides his brain power is being wasted. 

Cas seems to sense he's being watched and his eyes lock with Dean's. They're incredibly blue, and Dean wonders how he didn't notice before. When they catch the crimson light it almost makes his irises look a striking lilac -- ethereal. The whole man's a little other-wordly, in fact. 

"Hm," Castiel hums and smiles a little. 

"What?" Dean asks, shifting a little so he's more on his side. 

"We're missing the show," Cas answers, gesturing towards the window. 

Outside, the fireworks have multiplied to cluster and bloom all across the sky, greens and yellows harsh against their tomato-soup canvas. "I'm good here," Dean says, returning his gaze to Castiel's face. The song moves on to something by the Arctic Monkeys.

"Good," he says, then languidly gets onto his hands and knees and crawls until he's straddling Dean; whose hands move to Cas's waist on automatic. "Dean," he says gravely. 

"Yeah Cas?" Dean asks, a little breathless already. 

"Can I kiss you?" 

Dean grins up at Castiel. "You can do whatever you want to me," he says, and he means it. 

"Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out?" Cas asks, almost sincerely. Then there are a pair of soft, insistent lips pressing at his own and he closes his eyes; allowing himself to be lost in the sensation. The feeling -- the weight -- of having another man above him; kissing in earnest like he means it, makes Dean's eyes water, however loathe he'd be to admit to it. Castiel's naked chest presses against Dean's shirt and Dean pushes him away, momentarily, to pull the fabric off of his own body. Then he's back, flesh to hot, firm flesh -- mouth on Castiel's, kissing him deeply like it's the last thing he'll ever do. 

Cas grinds down on Dean and he can feel arousal through the tight black jeans. Dean's hands tremble slightly as they grasp at Cas's zipper. Castiel sits up a little and takes Dean's hands in his own. "Dean," he says breathlessly. "Have you been with a man before?" 

"That obvious?" Dean chuckles self-deprecatingly. 

Cas smiles softly and shakes his head. "No, you're not, I promise," he says. "Are you okay with this, though?" 

"Yeah," Dean nods. "I am if you are." 

Castiel regards him for a moment longer before leaning down and biting Dean's collarbone, then soothing it with a soft kiss. 

They explore each other's bodies; find what makes the other tick, immerse themselves in each other. Cas opens Dean up slowly, carefully, as if he's something sacred, and then they make love in the dying-ember light from outside as the world around them burns. They grasp each other's sweat-slick skin as if it's the only thing keeping them there, whispering unfiltered sweet-nothings into the other's lips. Castiel comes first, slack jawed, clear eyed and beautiful, Dean idly wishes they had met before today -- then he's coming too; wrecked by Cas, the sight of Cas, the feel of Cas. 

Their legs tangle with the sheets; neither sure where one pair ends and the other begins, like the roots of neighbouring trees. Dean wraps his arm around Cas's shoulders and breathes him in; clean sweat, sex, frankincense, humanity. Castiel's breathing acts as an anchor, securing Dean to this moment -- the two of them together as one while it all comes to an end. The room's stiflingly hot now, but neither of them have the willingness to move from each other's warmth. Dean feels hot wetness on his chest and he looks down to see Cas's  eyes glisten. 

He says nothing, but squeezes him tighter in solidarity; comfort. 

Castiel sniffs and looks up at Dean. "I'm not sad, I don't know why I'm crying," he says quietly. 

"I get it, don't worry," Dean murmurs into his hair. 

"I mean, I am sad," Cas elaborates. "I'm sad that the world's ending, but I think... I think I'm more sad because I've fallen a little bit in love with you." 

Dean goes to make a joke but instead just places a kiss into Castiel's hair and looks out the window. "I think I'm a little bit in love with you too," he admits, softly. 

There are more tears spilling onto Dean's skin, but he lets Cas be. In a few minutes they stop, and Castiel moves to bury his head in the crook of Dean's neck. Dean lets him -- appreciating the closeness as much as the Cas is. 

"At least we have this," Dean mumbles at some point. 

"At least we do." 

Dean thinks Cas might have fallen asleep, and he's internally debating the ethics of waking him or letting him sleep on, when another, intolerable wave of heat comes. Dean struggles to take a breath and when he does it sears his insides. He holds Cas tighter in his arms, their flesh making them one where it touches. He looks through the glass of the window and sees stars through the red, though he isn't sure if they're from his head or the milky way. A tear slips down Dean's cheek and he closes his eyes for the final time, and he can imagine, just for a moment, that here in this bed is the only place that exists, the only thing that matters. And for a moment, it is.


End file.
